Warmongers
by Taluliaka
Summary: Optimus Prime and a ragged team of Autobots attempt to end a war millennia-old. But it seems that warmongers are no longer exclusively found amongst the ranks of the Decepticons. TF/ROTF continuity.
1. Prologue: A Planet Named War

**Warmongers**

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**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Transformers in any of its forms._

**Prologue: A Planet Named War**

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That the _Ark_ has made landfall on a planet named War is fitting, for war is what he intends to bring. War is what he has carried to Megatron again and again, and war has broken upon him in turn. And it is common knowledge amongst his Autobots that their war cannot be ended unless the All-Spark is recovered-

(-and then what? There is nowhere it can be taken-he does not have the numbers to hold it-not anymore-and Megatron will never stop hunting it-tracing its whorling blue-white trail into oblivion-)

Sometimes Optimus Prime does not believe that the war will ever end.

It is difficult to adjust to this planet. He walks without a fixed destination, tracing a jagged ridge to its source. All the ground is twisted and pock-marked, as though it has been scarred by cannon fire. There is a steep drop to his right to the lowlands, where the red dust spirals and eddies into great storms. This sun is young and it blazes over the chinks of his armour, warming the wires and plates beneath. He walks to slough away the _Ark'_s cool and sterile atmosphere, the dead-metal chill, the steady and irritating hum, impossible to filter from audio receptors. He suspects, however, that he could walk one thousand _hics_, and still feel the surface shifting illogically beneath his supports. He has never enjoyed deep space travel, necessary though it has become. Continuously he scans his surroundings, moving within a web of sensory beams that bounce and refract over the red rocks. If anything comes within this radius, he will know of it in a _nano-klik_, and be able to react accordingly. He does not believe that any Decepticons currently inhabit this same planetary body, but it is a foolish mech who lowers his guard in unknown territory. Unless he has the luck of Primus himself, permanent deactivation is usually the inevitable conclusion-

_/-/_

A brush over his communication dials, too brief to be an attempt to forge a link. He pauses, looks back to find the _Ark_ hidden from optic view behind the planet's ragged horizon.

/-/

Another rush of static, questing yet faint. One of his soldiers seeking to verify his location. He does not yet wish to return to the _Ark'_s cloying enclosed space. If it were urgent, surely they would bolster a signal using the _Ark_'s own sensor arrays. He stands indecisive, and tiny stirrings of irritation nip at his processor. Time is growing short. No longer can he indulge himself by exploring the terrain-not when his scout stands ready to depart. Yet still he stands rigid, silent, neither answering nor blocking the signal as it grows stronger.

_/-Prime-/_

He vents with more force than strictly necessary, and opens his comm link.

_/-Report-/_

A beat of silence, disapproving. He regrets, briefly, employing so clipped a tone, but it is done.

_/-Autobot scout stands ready to depart on your order, Commander-/_

His medical officer's retreat into formal terms does not quite conceal the ire beneath. His reluctance to return to the _Ark _increases-Ratchet can hold a grudge like no mech he has ever encountered. And yet, his is the original offense. Over the past hundred _vorns _he has been falling into harsh moods, each one prompted by insignificant events, forcing him to seek solitude.

_/-Commander-/_

His spark seems frozen within him, and the close-wound heat of his companions' presences has come close to unbearable.

_/-Prime-/_

Even now, freed from the confines of the transport vessel, he can find no true relief. There is a drag on his limbs as though he is weighed down; there is no physical action that can lessen such a load, strain though he does.

_/-OPTIMUS-/_

He jolts from his reverie.

_/-Yes-/_

He forces himself to move, re-tracing his own steps across the plateau.

_/-What is your location-/_

_/-Approximately 4.2564 hics from the Ark-/_

_/-Jazz recommends prime departure point to be within the next two cycles sir-/_

_/-Understood-/_

He allows Ratchet to end the transmission and watches the red dust clouds roll.

Tensions are high amongst his Autobots. Sending one of their own down amongst undetermined enemies, to a planet they know too little about, despite Jazz's frantic assemblage of data chips, is taking its toll. Ratchet barely emerges from his temporary medbay, and his infrequent forays into their shared space seem only to be in order to argue with Ironhide, who has never required extensive justification to charge his plasma cannons. (They have not yet been grounded for more than a _mega-cycle_ and already Optimus fears that Mars' landscape has been irrevocably altered by Ironhide's firepower.) Bumblebee alternates between reconnoitre expeditions of the immediate area and helping Jazz sort through Earth's jumble of transmissions.

Over them all hang the memories of Tyger Pax, and of the Great Purge. It is no longer known how many non-combatants Megatron massacred in the last _breems _before Cybertron ripped itself apart, but once the All-Spark was launched there have been no new Sparks. Teletraan-1 marks Bumblebee as one of the last protoforms ever Sparked currently known throughout the Autobot and Decepticon ranks. The possibility that he is sending their last Spark to deactivation cycles constantly through his processor- and will continue to do so after the Autobot makes landfall. But it is no longer a matter of choice. They have traced the All-Spark's energy to this system, and the howling byte-scar seared in the atmosphere from Megatron's passing. It is imperative they secure the All-Spark, and Bumblebee is a brave and experienced scout.

His logic relays are satisfied, yet his spark coils with uncertainty. And his soldiers clash and fret and doubt their Prime.

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**Author's Notes: **Only way to get back to my other projects is to purge my current obssession: Optimus Prime. I am following the TF '07 and ROTF '09 continuity doing a character study that will eventually speculate on the events post-ROTF. I find him absolutely fascinating, particularly the aspect of him as a military commander and as a Prime. 'The Great Purge' is my own version of what happened in the final few pitched battles on Cybertron, where all those who didn't belong to a faction were slaughtered by Megatron's command, and another reason for the launching of the All-Spark at Tyger Pax.

_Hic_ - kilometer

_Nano-klik _- one second

_Cycle_- one hour and fifteen minutes

_Mega-cycle _-ninety-three hours

_Breem_- eight point three minutes

_Vorn_ -eighty three years

_Concrit appreciated,_

**_Taluliaka._**


	2. Chapter 1: Launch

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Warmongers

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**Disclaimer: **_See Prologue._

**Chapter 1: Launch**

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Too soon, he is surrounded again by the _Ark_'s disquieting hum, that shivers over his armour plates. It is not dissimilar to the sensation of a tracer, or a target lock, and it activates his battle programming at minimum once every few _cycles_, even breaching deep recharge cycles. In the middle of a combat zone such programming is essential for survival, has in fact prevented the deactivation of entire units of Autobot warriors, but in the deep reaches of empty space, it needlessly strains his systems.

He expects to find Jazz assembling data chips, but Teletraan-1 is unattended, monitors idle. He steps back into the corridor and listens for a _klik_. Only the expected shifts and pings expected as the old ship settles meet his audios. The social space is unoccupied- he strides past without pause- there is no threat, just those ghost-touches on his armour, not the silence that follows a battle-

_/-Ironhide-/_

-a little too much force in that transmission- there are _no Decepticons on this ship_- battle programming already performing diagnostical checks on his weapons, energon diverting to fuel his blades-

_/-Medbay, Prime. Something you should see-/_

He can hear the amusement in Ironhide's voice, and slows his steps, cancels his battle programs. It isn't until his cooling fans click on that he realises just how agitated he had become.

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Ironhide is leaning against one of the medbay's walls when he enters, huge arms folded comfortably over his chestplates, watching the entertainment unfold: Ratchet, circular saw whirring furiously, and a thick wrench waving menacingly in his right hand, looming over Jazz and Bumblebee, expletives raining down on the two miscreants-

"What in the Pit were you thinking you glitching, drone-sparked excuse for a spy! I should disable your slagging logic relays with an arc-welder because you clearly have no use for them-either of you!"

Jazz doesn't seem concerned, grinning broadly even under the full force of the Hatchet's wrath, but Bumblebee is hunched submissively, clutching a crushed pile of metal close to his side, releasing appealing whistles and clicks.

Ironhide chuckles darkly, optics flaring in the dim light.

"Slagger never learns. You've got to cut him off before he gets to the threats- mech can go on for _cycles_ before he repeats himself."

Unfortunately, the mech in question overhears him and displays the temper that has made him infamous in both Autobot and Decepticon circles- the wrench bounces off Ironhide's helm with such force that Ironhide's optics reset.

"THAT FRAGGING HURT YOU PIT-SPAWNED MEDIC!"

The whine of plasma cannons coming online is enough to make Optimus intervene. Holes appearing in this uninhabited planet's rock formations is bad enough without them being blasted through the walls of the _Ark_. He steps between them, wonders briefly about the existence of his own sanity as the full heat of Ratchet's narrowed optics falls on him.

"Enough."

Ratchet's saw slows its rotations, and Bumblebee straightens with a soft whistle of relief.

"Would anyone care to explain the situation?"

The wrench abandoned on the ground suddenly skitters away, leaving the ground in a swift arc and bouncing off Bumblebee's shoulder plate. His First Lieutenant coolly snatches it from the air, drops his magnetic field and smirks at the minibot.

"Sorry 'Bee."

Then, catching Optimus' pointed stare,

"Just trying to limit ammo supply for the Hatchet, Optimus."

Ironhide's booming laughter echoes in the enclosed space as Ratchet whirls on the spy, and Optimus can't quite hide his own amusement as Jazz retreats skilfully around the examination tables, avoiding each viciously launched projectile with ease. Jazz has the enviable talent of diffusing tensions with his antics, one that he has honed over his _vorns_ serving in the Autobot ranks. As Prime, he appreciates such a trait more than most mechs know; Jazz inspires through his confidence, his social and open nature, the offhand recounts of his pranks on the Decepticons during infiltration missions. His is a rare build amongst saboteurs, soldier and diplomat, able to dwell amongst mechs of any station, unlike his fellow officer Mirage, who is widely considered to have been Sparked with no sense of humour at all.

He waits until Jazz attempts to use Bumblebee as a living shield to interrupt.

"Lieutenant, would you like to explain why Ratchet is so intent on offlining you?"

Ratchet, robbed of his prey, seizes on his suggestion with a worrying degree of enthusiasm.

"Yes! Yes, Jazz, explain to Prime what you two slagheads have done to jeopardise the Earth mission _before it's even begun_!"

Jazz peers around the minibot with a decidedly unrepentant smirk on his faceplates.

"Aw come off it you rusted relic, it ain't our fault human technology is 'bout as durable as scrap drone parts!"

"That doesn't explain why you felt the urge in your glitched processor to interfere with it at all!"

If this is supposed to be an explanation, it is completely lost on him. He turns to Ironhide for assistance, but judging by the sheer amount of maniacal glee his weapons specialist is projecting, it could be _breems _before he receives any backup. Ratchet gestures curtly at Bumblebee and the young Autobot hurries to place his armful of crushed metal on the closest examination table, then backs respectfully away as Optimus approaches. He scans the piece of human technology, but the information fed back to his processor is inconclusive. Ironhide steps up beside him and grunts, unimpressed.

"What the frag are these markings?"

Ratchet glares balefully at Jazz and Bumblebee as he replies.

"N.A.S.A- it is a human linguistic abbreviation for 'National Aerodynamics and Space Adminstration'."

He can't help looking at the pitiful frame with new optics- the presence of numerous satellites in Earth's orbit are expected, considering the sheer number of transmissions they emit- but more of these remote-accessed machines could be problematic.

"Is this the only one you have encountered?"

"Only one on the whole planet, Boss 'Bot."

Ratchet seems far from mollified. He rolls his optics at Jazz and points out the crumpled remains of what was once...

"Recording equipment, Optimus. This is clearly a space exploration device designed to send statistics back to this administration."

"Which is why I crushed it right after 'Bee picked it up!"

"You are aware that this is supposed to be a _stealth_ mission?"

Optimus raises a hand to stop the bickering and addresses his CMO.

"Ratchet, what is the likelihood of the humans having received an image before Jazz...broke the connection?"

"Impossible to tell when all that remains is this pile of scrap."

Ironhide stirs.

"It isn't the humans we should be concerned with, Optimus. If any 'Cons intercept that transmission, we're slagged."

"That is true, Ironhide. We have far too little intel on Megatron's current actions, or the concentration of his forces. That is why it is imperative we send a scout to verify what knowledge we do have. The _Ark_ has traced the Allspark's energy to this sector- we must investigate. Jazz."

"Prime?"

"You recommended a launch within the next _cycle_?"

"Yes sir."

Optimus turns to Bumblebee, and the scout comes to attention rapidly, determination flaring in his blue optics.

"Then prepare yourself for departure, soldier. Dismissed."

The young scout darts away into the corridor and Optimus is left to field the stares of his companions. Doubt flares again in his spark under the weight of their optics, but he lifts his head and does not break their gaze. He speaks softly.

"What would you have me do?"

Jazz hesitates, but Ratchet steps forward, solemn, weariness in his frame.

"Reconsider. Send Jazz instead, Prime. Jazz has more experience in the field. He's been doing these missions since before Bumblebee was even Sparked, for Primus' sake."

He can hear the unspoken plea beneath those measured words, from a mech who has lost too many friends to this war. Ironhide cycles his vents unhappily, but adds his opinion.

"Sending that little 'Bot down with Megatron again is asking for trouble, Prime. We don't know why the slagger hasn't made a move yet. You could be sending him straight into a trap."

It is Tyger Pax, then, that rules in their processors again. He remembers too well watching them bring Bumblebee in, voice capacitator shredded, frame grotesquely twisted and broken under the cruel claws of the Decepticon Lord. It is not something he can, or will, delete. But the memories of that sacrifice make his soldiers overprotective. He will not yield, for Bumblebee's sake.

"You see his limitations, but not his strength."

Three voices are raised in argument, but he cuts across them.

"I remember Tyger Pax, and what Bumblebee sacrificed for the Autobot cause. As Prime, I can never forget. But Bumblebee is a scout, and if I send Jazz in his place to spare his life, I insult all that he has done. I insult his trust that I will command honourably, that I will not overlook his contributions and usurp his rightful position with another. I insult him as an Autobot, and as a friend."

His last words are as much a command as it is a statement of a fact.

"I will not be guilty of that."

And he leaves his soldiers to their thoughts.

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He does not sense Bumblebee approach until the scout whistles gently in warning. Optimus turns. He has come for his final instructions before the launch, and stands ready and willing on Mars' strange red sands. Primus, was he ever that young himself?

"Jazz has told you about reporting every _deca-cycle_?"

A jaunty nod in reply, and he cannot help looking at Bumblebee's damaged capacitator. Scars sustained in service to his Prime. How many more to come?

"You are to ascertain the location of the Allspark. That is your primary mission. If you are able, discover which Decepticons have followed Megatron planetside. But do not engage with any enemy force unless you are compromised. If so, activate your distress beacon immediately, and we will launch within a _cycle_ to assist you. Do not reveal yourself to the humans unless necessary to the success of the mission. If you must, do so at your own prerogative. I trust your judgment."

He pauses, watches Bumblebee. Part of him wants to keep this last Spark under his optics forever, and that is a vicious and clawing part that stems from the eternal unanswered ache of a shattered spark-bond. But it is the commander that speaks the parting words to his youngest soldier, and that is wiser, if not as kind.

"If you are fatally compromised, Bumblebee, know that I will never view this mission as failed. May your passage into the Matrix be swift. Until all are one."

A traditional farewell, and though Bumblebee cannot echo it, he bows his head and replies all the same.

_Until all are one._

Bumblebee's pod burns a bright trail in the atmosphere as it spirals towards Earth, and he watches until the last fragments of light are scattered and later still, when all again is darkness and Ironhide picks his way amongst the rocks to where his Prime stands and watches the sky. They stand together, and each take comfort from the other's presence, the knowledge of kinship in a universe where Cybertronian sparks are becoming rarer with each _nano-klik_.

"Let's pray that Megatron isn't watchin' the skies tonight."

Optimus nods in agreement. But he is not content with only prayer. He intends to find out.

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**Author's Notes: **Wikipedia says that Beagle 2 was destroyed by a Decepticon...but well...we all know you can't trust Wikipedia. Looks like Bumblebee's torso to me. Thanks go to Slightly for the review, you awesome person you. Also thought I'd mention: not following the prequel comics (obviously). Makes much more sense to have the _Ark_ picking up Allspark energy than to have some random bunch of humans point them in the right direction. All I know about that section of the canon is drawn from the Teletraan-1 Wiki, so I am aware of its existence. I just choose to mostly ignore it.

_Klik_- one point two minutes

_Deca-cycle_- three weeks

_Concrit well received,_

**_Taluliaka._**


End file.
